Under A Blood-Red Sun
by Asphyxia
Summary: On the island of Mallorca, located in the Mediterranean Sea, Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy discover Umbrella's latest plans and a Tyrant of uncharted cruelty--a human one.


**Author's Notes: For once, I'm not going to bore you with my interminable Author's Notes™. I guess I'm just not in the mood for them today. *yawns and crawls back into her Zerg hive* See ya around.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own nothin', dammit! It's all Capcom's stuff.**

Under A Blood-Red Sun

By Asphyxia

Residencia Bellver

Puerto Pollença, Mallorca

Balearic Islands, Spain

4:37 P.M.

Claire swore she could almost taste the heat. 

It was a sticky, warm, clinging-to-your-body kind of heat, which came every couple of days on the island. It interspersed itself within days of dry heat, which were common; days that were warm with a wonderfully cool breeze, which were not; and finally, the occasional day when you'd have to wear jeans or a long-sleeved shirt at night. These were rarest of all, and the ones Claire hated to a great degree.

But definitely not as much as she hated the sticky-hot days. 

She'd come to the Balearic Islands by herself, after coming back from Antarctica. It was a bit stupid, true, but at least here she was somewhat safe from Umbrella. And that was what Chris had wanted. In fact, it was the reason she was there in the first place. Once he and the others had begun to make plans, he'd told Claire that he didn't want her to come with them. He didn't want her to get hurt. So there'd been a fight, with lots of screaming and spitting and fury that had shocked the hell out of everyone. Two angry Redfields were a sight to behold—even more so if they were angry with each other. After the fight, Claire had been in an absolute rage, and she'd called the airport immediately, asking which flights were leaving that night. She didn't know much about the Balearic Islands, and told the attendant to book her a seat. After hanging up she'd stormed upstairs and packed a bag. Though she'd felt guilty about it later, she'd grabbed Leon's Desert Eagle and stashed it in the bag, just in case. She'd left, warning them not to come after her. So here she was, alone, in a small apartment that she'd rented for a few months. It was pretty inexpensive, all things considered, and more or less furnished, making it perfect for her. 

She sat now on one of the dark green sofas in the living room, listening to the Smashing Pumpkins on the simple stereo system. The Desert Eagle she'd taken from Leon lay on the coffee table next to a barely-tasted can of Coke. On the little end table between the two perpendicularly-placed sofas were two bottles; one small and one large. The small one was a bottle of black nail polish, while the large one was nail polish remover. A pack of cotton pads lay behind both bottles. Her freshly painted nails, still wet, added to the already-present and chemical smells of both polish and remover. The TV was on and muted, providing her with a bit of company. 

Claire stared emotionlessly at the TV as images flashed across it, reflected in her tired gray eyes. She felt so much older than twenty, almost as if she'd seen everything in the world and lived to tell about it. And though she wanted to sleep, she knew she couldn't—the second she closed her eyes her mind erupted with images of the dying Steve Burnside that she couldn't forget. Her body ached with exhaustion, but Claire continued to deny it what it wanted. She denied herself what she wanted, which was to pick up the phone and tell Chris that she was coming home. But it was useless. She couldn't—_wouldn't—give in to herself. That was admitting weakness, which she would never, ever do._

_Oh, really? So why the hell are you on an island, by yourself, just because you're pissed at your big brother? Since when is that considered strength? That nagging little voice, filled with a gleeful maliciousness, tortured her incessantly, making her aware of how she'd failed—failed Chris, failed Leon, failed Steve. _

The phone rang.

Claire jumped at the sudden, piercing sound and glared at the phone, once she'd realized that it was the thing that had made the noise. It rang again, and she wanted nothing more than to throw the stupid piece of shit across the room. But of course, it wasn't hers, so she couldn't. Gritting her teeth, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Claire!" It was Leon. "Finally! God, we weren't even sure if you were really there, but we managed to track you—" 

"What do you want, Leon?" Claire cut in, voice cold and flat. She was on fire, pure rage surging through her veins at breakneck speeds. In some small corner of her mind, she knew she was being irrational—but she didn't give a fuck, not anymore.

There was a pause, and Leon spoke cautiously. "Claire, are you all right?" he asked, so _sweet and caring, you fucking bastard, hang up the goddamn phone! gently. She fought the urge to shriek obscenities at him and gritted her teeth even harder than before._

"I'm…" _fucking horrible, thank you so__ much for asking! "…I—I don't…" __no, you will not give in, you bitch, no no nonononono—"…I'm alone."_

Leon sighed, showing concern. "Claire, I can come get you—so you can come back. Chris is really worried…"

Her internal voices were screaming at her not to give in, but she couldn't help it anymore. She began to cry silently, hot tears coursing down her face.

"Leon?" she whispered. "Come get me. Please?" 

"Of course," he murmured, his voice soothing and warm. "I'll come get you, sweetie. I'm gonna go now. All right?"

"Yeah," Claire choked out. Her free hand had curled into a fist, her nails—now dry—cutting into the flesh of her palm. Blood seeped out and stained the couch. 

"Ok, great. I have to go now, so I can get to the airport. Will you be ok?"

Claire nodded, then remembered that he couldn't see her. "Yeah," she repeated hollowly. "Come soon."

"I will." He paused slightly. "I'll see you soon, Claire. Don't worry." And then he hung up, and Claire found herself wanting to burst in wild sobs at the sound of that little click. 

"Ok," she whispered. She placed the receiver on the hook and stared across the room. So he was coming.

And even if she didn't want to admit it—her mind certainly didn't—she wouldn't have stopped him even if she could. 

_To be continued._

**A/N: It may surprise you, but I actually support the Claire/Leon pairing. It's one of the FEW het pairings I can stand. Besides, it's cute. XD Remember to R&R, people—it's common courtesy, K? Peace. **


End file.
